


He Can't Find Out

by orphan_account



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My part of the Monkees Holiday Exchange for 2015, for what-the-nesmith! Micky discovers that Mike and Davy are crushing on each other, and decides to get them together by any means necessary, just in time for Christmas. (some Micky/Peter hinted at the end, perhaps calling for a sequel? Who knows)</p>
<p>Some language, some kissing, some really bad innuendos courtesy of Micky Dolenz. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Micky knew the moment he saw Davy staring out the window in his unique form of reverie— stars and all. He was in love. Again. And it must be a deep affection, since Davy never seemed to go full gaga if a pretty girl wasn’t in the room. Micky began to daydream about the type of girl who would have such an effect on Davy, she would probably be his type too. Of course, it didn’t take long to remember than whenever a girl was involved, the band was in for trouble. He just hoped it wasn’t another princess.

“So who is it?” Micky spoke directly into Davy’s ear, and, for a moment the two were eye-to-eye as Davy jumped in shock.

“Don’t do that. What are you on about? ‘Who is it?’ I don’t know have any idea what you’re talking about.” Davy was a decent actor, but his red face (an almost perfect match for their old shirts) and his hurried speech gave him away. 

“Davy, c’mon! Who’s the lucky girl? You know you wanna,” Micky begged, pulling his best gossiping teenager voice. Davy’s face softened— it didn’t take much for him to give in to Micky. Especially when he just really, really wanted to talk to someone about it.

“Well, for your information, it’s actually not a girl. This time. Shocking I know, but listen, he’s a very ni— “

“Wait! My best friend, in the whole wide world, is gay? And I never knew? I always expected it to be Peter. Or me.” His nose scrunched up, and he looked away from Davy, concentrating on the wall behind him. “I just always assumed your flamboyance was a part of the ole’ Davy Jones Charm. When did you make the switch?” He giggled for a moment, before flicking the kitchen light on and off.

“C’mon, man, you can do better than that.” 

“Let me guess, you found yourself falling head over heels for your tall, dark, and handsome band-mate,” Davy bit his lower lip, “with luscious curly hair, a velveteen voice, and a propensity for high-larious impressions!” He finished with a wink, and missed Davy’s averted glance. “Well, sorry _you dirty rat_ , but you just aren’t my type. I prefer blonds.”

“You know, you’re absolutely hilarious Mick. Seriously. I’m dying of laughter. What a card you are,” Davy managed a smirk, but his brows were still knitted, and his voice still sounded like it was trying to mask something that needed to come out. Despite his earlier decision to surrender to his friend, he just couldn’t force his little secret out. As he turned away in solemn surrender, Micky placed a hand (and an excessively strong grip) on his shoulder. It was enough.

“First of all, I never really made a switch, I’ve always liked guys and girls. I just find it easier to go out with girls. Less questions that way. I can usually get by just fine, but this guy, I don’t know, I just can’t get him off my mind. I’ve tried going out with chicks, to see if I’ll forget about him, but after months and months of this I still find myself pining after him. I haven’t pined after anyone who wasn’t also pining after me, and that’s what makes this worse— he’s straighter than a pole, I’m sure of it.” Once Davy began talking, every pent-up thought came flowing out, preventing Micky from interjecting. It was almost as if Micky wasn’t even there. “Maybe it’s because, I don’t know, he’s just so gorgeous. And talented. And funny, and sweet, and the way the light dances in his eyes sets my heart on fire,” (Micky winced slightly at the cliché), “and his hair is so thick and impeccable and his voice is so attractive with his thick accent and he’s so tall and strong and one time he put his arm around my shoulder and I didn’t want it to end I just felt so safe there’s something about Mike that just— “ 

Davy’s hand flew to his mouth. Even though he knew it had to happen, the sound, the feel of Mike’s name after all that was incredibly jolting. Micky’s mouth dropped as well, and he screamed, “Holy shit, you like Mike?! Oh my god, tell me everything! When did it happen? Have you— “

“Keep your voice down! I don’t want anyone else to find out about— “

They heard the door unlock, and slowly turned as Mike and Peter walked in, calmly. Completely unaware. “Hey guys, y’all want some — what’s going on?” Mike pointed at the pair, who were now clutching each other in shock. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Well, uh, well, Mike, we’ve— “

“What Davy is trying to say is that we did see a ghost!” Micky let go of Davy, almost making him fall. Mike seemed concerned, but whether it was over the “ghost” or Davy, no one could tell.

“We did? Oh, yeah, we did. She was, like, all scary and ghost-like, you know. Blaaaaah!” Davy tried to make a creepy ghost noise, complete with wiggling fingers, while glancing and glaring at Micky to finish what he started.

“Yeah, she was walking out on the beach. Except she wasn’t walking, she was floating. And she was unnaturally skinny, incredibly short, and she was all dressed in white, and she was making this horrible groaning noise, like a cat crying!” Micky ran around the room, making theatrical hand movements all the way, and meowed in Peter’s ear. One of his best performances.

“Mick, Davy, that wasn’t a ghost,” Mike sighed as he crossed his arm and tilted his hip, “that was the little girl down the street. She likes to sing out on the beach.”

“Maybe we should get her to join us?” Micky said with a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know, Michael,” Peter said knowingly as he tapped Mike on the shoulder. “Maybe it was the Los Angeles Christmas Ghost.”

“Peter, what in the world are you talking about? There’s no such thing as the Los Angeles Christmas Ghost.” Mike said, his words dripping with eye-roll.

“Well, I saw it in a movie once. She comes down the week before Christmas; she’s a harbringer of Christmas cheer and love!”

“First of all it’s ‘harbinger,’ second of all, why would a ghost bring cheer?”

As Mike and Peter discussed this holiday spirit, Micky looked over at Davy, who was transfixed by Mike. The stars were remarkably brighter that night. 

 --

Hours later, while Micky brushed his hair out, he thought about Davy again. Poor, poor Davy. There must be some way to either get him over Mike (or, if Mike was so inclined, under him). Of course, after thinking that, all he could do was giggle to himself, only to realize he just made himself visualize his friends banging. He stopped laughing.

“Hey, Mick,” Mike said as he walked in and closed the bedroom door, “what were you and Davy really talking about? And don’t say ‘ghost.’” 

“What do you mean? Would I ever lie to you?” He made a kissy face at Mike, causing him to walk over to Micky and playfully slap the back of his head. “This is serious, Micky. I’ve started noticing something about Davy, and I’m hopin— no, I, um, I’m worried about him. Is he feeling alright?”

“What exactly have you noticed?” Micky tried to hide the worry in his voice and on his face. He could usually keep a secret, but this was Mike, after all. They shared everything, and it was a tough habit to break for one little crush.

“Well, I’ve noticed over breakfast, whenever he looks at me, he has that look, the one with the starry eyes, and I just, well, I know it’s not directed at me. It can’t be. But, well, sometimes, I think…” Micky recalled the way Davy looked when he poured his heart out to Micky earlier, for Mike mirrored it. He didn’t think grabbing Mike would be beneficial in this case and, thankfully, he didn’t have to test it out.

“Sometimes I think I want him to be in love with me. Because I am. With him, that is, jeez, this is tough,” Mike sank down on the bed as he exhaled his confession, averting his eyes in case his friend reacted with disgust or shock. Or worse. 

By this point, Micky was more shocked that Mike wasn’t the one who needed to be begged, not that he was gay. 

Micky turned around in his chair, leaving the brush stuck in his hair, ready to fly to his friend’s side in humorous aid, when Mike began his own flood: “I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re, like, the closest guy I have. I know he’s probably thinking about some cute girl, but I wish he was thinking about me, ya know? What’s wrong with me? I mean, we’re band-mates. We’re friends. I feel like a creep when I so much as glance at him, but I can’t stop myself. He’s just so handsome, you know? Even if he did like guys, he probably wouldn’t like an ugly skinny guy like me.” 

Mike wasn’t really talking to anyone in particular by this point, at least Micky thought so as he stared straight ahead, directly at the wall. “Mick, what can I do?”

Micky could have just told him outright that this was, for once, a case of requited love. Micky probably should have just told him outright what exactly Davy told him. But by then, Mike had forgotten about that, and a light bulb had already appeared over Micky’s head.

He had a plan. And as he mulled it over (for two seconds), he knew it was his best one yet.

“Well, Michael, I think I know the issue. Maybe it’s just the old Davy Jones magic, the one that gets all the girls flocking to our window when we practice. If my theory is correct, anyone who stares directly into Davy’s eyes while he’s working said magic feels as though they’re in love with him. But even though it’s strong, he can’t make it last longer than a few days. You should be fine.” But Mike wasn’t paying attention, and it didn’t matter to Micky, since he was really outlining his new job as matchmaker.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter was right. It was the week before Christmas (there really wasn't a ghost). They had two days left before the holiday, and the band had only just begun to put up the tree. This was partly due to a lack of funds, partly due to time spent practicing, and mostly due to laziness. It all worked perfectly for Micky.

They couldn’t afford another trespassing charge, so they didn’t go cut one down themselves. They also couldn’t afford to buy a tree off the lot, so they spent hours putting together a fake tree, only to have Micky leave them claiming he was “allergic.”

And he dragged Peter along to pick up some “ointment.” 

Mike was alone with Davy, and they had to work together. In close quarters. It was the latest cruel joke the universe had in store for him. For three days, ever since he opened his stupid mouth and told Micky about his crush, he found himself to sitting next to Davy (because Micky decided to put old boxes on the chairs), or pushed into Davy’s side (usually by Micky). Or some other awkward coincidence that made the two too close for comfort. Except, he was always a little too comfortable. So comfortable, he never noticed Micky’s grin, or Peter’s glances.

Each time, Mike came closer and closer to losing control entirely. Davy was just so warm and welcoming, always smiling up at him and laughing whenever he apologized for getting in his space (which only made him more flustered). The Davy Jones magic just wouldn’t go away.

The worst part was that, no matter how much he told himself otherwise, there was a part of Mike that sensed Davy wasn’t acting entirely just as a friend when he leaned into him on the couch. When he seemed to blush slightly after Mike touched him. When he looked over at him while singing one of his love songs. 

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe it was the whole holiday mood that made everything seem so perfect. Maybe he was hopelessly in love. And he hated it. His voice cracked and he stumbled over words, and no one focused when they practiced anymore. Except for Davy. 

He stroked the back of his hand where Davy had touched earlier, seemingly accidentally. He felt a warm burn that tickled his skin as he imaged Davy holding his hand and— 

“Hey, Mike! You gonna help me with these ornaments or what?” Mike jumped, realizing he had been staring dumbly into space for an entire minute, fantasizing about the man standing so close next to him. So close it almost made him drop the red plastic ball in his hand.

“You alright, babe?” He loved to hear Davy call him “babe” now. Even though he always had, it sounded slightly different now. 

“Yeah, I’m fine Davy, you just scared me, issa-ll,” There was that voice crack again, and a cough soon followed to disguise how flustered he was. _Jesus Christ_ , he thought, _you’re acting like a schoolgirl. Hell, even they act bolder around Davy._

“Well, when you have a minute, could you help me put the star up on top of the tree? Maybe...if you’re there to hold me I won’t fall. Well, I won't fall again.” Mike could hear Davy’s cheeky little grin, but he couldn’t see how Davy gazed lovingly at the way his hair flipped out at the base of his neck (and the tightness of his pants), as he stood facing the tree. He couldn’t see the way Davy’s breathe quickened at the thought of Mike holding him, even if it was just for a moment.

Davy couldn’t see how Mike’s eyes went wide, how he struggled to maintain composure, how his knees went weak and how his stomach began to flutter.

“Babe, I can’t let you do that. What if you get hurt?” 

Maybe Davy would let it go, maybe he would just let Mike do it and then they could be done. Mike desperately wanted to leave, to sit in his room and imagine a world where he wasn’t in love with his band-mate. Or one where his band-mate loved him back, whichever came easier. 

“Listen, Mike, I’ve fallen every year, and I’ve never been that hurt. And even though I haven’t ridden in a long time, I’ve still got a good grip with my legs.” Mike turned around, barely obscuring the various emotion that came from imagining Davy’s toned thighs. “Besides, Michael, I trust you,” he said, attempting to hide his shaking voice with a whisper, while failing to stop himself from moving closer and lightly touching Mike’s tense arm.

Mike’s face loosened bit by bit, and his blood pumped hard in his throat. He couldn’t say no to Davy Jones, especially not when he had a piece of tinsel dangling over his face. It framed it well.

“Alright, c’mon,” Mike said as he kneeled down. Davy climbed onto his shoulders, holding the star in one hand, grabbing Mike’s hair with the other.

“Shit, babe, don’t— “Davy’s hand moved, and brushed against Mike’s cheek. It took every ounce of willpower for Mike to not fall over. Davy had to urge himself to not press too much against Mike, and when he felt Mike’s cheek his fingers demanded to feel more. But, just like when he almost held Mike’s hand, he had to stop himself. Regardless of how much Mike seemed to reciprocate, he knew it was all in his head. Touching Mike’s face, touching Mike anywhere, for too long would not end well.

He can’t know, they thought, if he does, he might hate me. Or laugh. Or both. If you keep thinking about him, you might crack. Just focus on finishing the tree.

Mike stood up, groaning because of Davy’s unexpected weight. Davy almost groaned in response, but forced himself to focus all of his attention on the star. It had fake iridescent diamond-cut studs on each tip. He could see a darkness reflected in them, from Mike’s hair.  
Davy leaned over and gracefully placed the star atop the tree with a well-practiced hand.

And promptly fell over.

One second, he was upright, arm outstretched towards the tree. The next, he was face to face with a little plastic red ornament from earlier, with a mouthful of fake pine needles. And Mike Nesmith was on top of him, still gripping his body.

“Davy! Davy! Holy shit, are you okay? What happened? Oh God, I never should have let you do that, what was I thinking? Oh god Davy I’m so sorry, fuck, please answer me. Do you have a concussion? Can you breathe? How many fingers do I have-wait! no how many am I holding up, well I’m not holding up any so I guess that’s difficult. Wha-, what’s that on your face? Holy shit, you're bleeding!” Mike frantically turned Davy over, pushing his hair out of the way. The sharp hook of the ornament had lightly scratched him above the eyebrow, but it was enough to draw blood. And that was enough to scare Mike.

“Listen, man, it’s sweet that you care so much,” _Tone it down, Davy_ , “Er, I mean, thanks but I think I’ll be okay. Really. Please calm down.” _His hand is on your face his hand is on your face his face is inches away from yours oh my God he smells amazing and his skin is flawless and_

“I’m going to get you a band-aide,” Mike said tersely. When he looked into Davy’s eyes, he could have sworn there was something there. Some mutual feeling, that wasn’t friendship, or “trust.” Then there was the evening sun that dappled his tanned skin, and his thick eyebrows that wouldn’t be attractive anywhere else, but on Davy they added character. And his partially opened lips. And his eyes slowly breaking contact with Mike’s, trailing down to his mouth. _Don’t think about it Michael_ , he thought, _you’ll do somethin’ yer gonna forgit._ Instead, he focused on why he thought in a thicker accent when he was turned on.

Davy was still sprawled out on the floor when Mike returned. There was still a fine trickle of blood on his forehead, but it was nothing like the gushing wound Mike had seen originally. He knelt down, maintaining composure, wiped the wound, and placed the band-aide on Davy’s forehead in one swift motion to hide his embarrassment at his overreaction. 

Just as Mike prepared to stand, the door opened, and Micky and Peter were treated to the sight of their two band-mates sitting suspiciously close on the floor. 

“Oh no, Peter, looks like we disturbed the lovebirds,” is what Micky would have said if Mike hadn’t immediately jumped up and stated, “Whelp, we finished up, guess I’m off to bed.”

Several beats passed. A door slammed shut upstairs. Davy peevishly stood up, and said “Guess who put the star up. Two years in a row, man,” then rushed into his own room.

“How rude,” Peter jutted out his bottom lip, “they didn’t even ask about your skin. And we didn’t even ask about Davy’s head.” 

 --

This was it. Christmas Eve. He had tried getting them to sit near each other. He had tried making them bump into each other. He had pleaded to go through every love song Davy did, and make sure he was positioned perfectly. He had even gotten them to spend a few hours alone, and even though, by all laws of romance novels, they should have hooked up last night, nothing happened. Hell, he hadn’t even planned for Davy to fall, and, of all people, he would have expected Mike to make the first move by then.

Nothing had worked. He had two options. The first would be to just sit them down, and bluntly tell them: “Mike, Davy wants to trade in riding horses for riding Texans with overgrown sideburns. Davy, Mike wants to sail the British seas!” Maybe those jokes could be worked on, but it was the thought that counted.

This option, however, was simply no fun. Micky wanted Mike and Davy to get together naturally. He just needed to be the barely visible hand that guided their romantic forces. Micky Dolenz always saw a plan through to the end, no matter how terrible it was, and plan Get-Mike-and-Davy-Together-Through-Carefully-Executed-Strategies (or GMADTTCES) was not going to be the exception. That’s why he bought the mistletoe yesterday. And then some lotion, because he accidentally bought poison ivy the first time. 

“How’s GMADTTCEX going, Micky?” Peter asked as he prepared their dinner— marshmallow chicken casserole— forcing Micky to stop thinking about why a store would bother selling poison ivy in the Christmas section. 

“GMADTTCE _S_ , Peter. _S_. And, by this time tomorrow, they’ll be all over each other! You know, I think Mike came close yesterday, but he’s just so stubborn. Or maybe Davy came close, he's stubborn too. That’s why they’re perfect for each other.”

“Micky, I think Mike and Davy would really appreciate it if you just cleared the air, and stopped making them go through forced, awkward scenarios,” Peter looked over his shoulder as he dispensed his first astute judgement of the year.

“Oh, but that awkwardness, the glances, the blushing, the stuttering, is all half the fun of being in love! And they’ll thank me for my work, too. You'll see!”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“Shhh, they should be here soon! I’ve got to get ready.” Micky ran to the center of the room and hung the mistletoe on a string, so anyone entering the Pad would, if walking to Micky, wind up directly beneath it. He had asked Mike to go out to the beach to find his backup-backup drumstick, and Davy to go to the garage to grab the fine china for their Christmas dinner, and both of them told him to “get it yourself.” Since neither existed, this was impossible, and after a lot of begging and crying, he got them to leave. 

He stood facing the mistletoe. When he heard two doors open, two pairs of feet stomping over to him, and two angry accented voices yelling at him, he pushed himself to hide his smile behind one hand, while pointing to the hanging plant with the other.  
“Hey fellas, stop screaming for a sec. You don’t want bad luck, do ya?”

Mike and Davy stopped, mid-complaint. Simultaneously, they looked up. Then at each other. Then up. Then over, before reluctantly whispering “Micky. No,” only to be answered by a wink.

Mike made the first step; Davy was the first to reach out and wrap his arms around his partner’s skinny waist. They could feel the other breathing shallowly. Mike was too afraid to speak, Davy was too focused on Mike to think. There was no one else in the room, no Peter humming quietly, no Micky cheering by the tree. Just Mike, and Davy, and the mole on Mike’s neck, and Davy’s unbuttoned collar, and a slowly closing space between their lips as one leaned forward and the other stood on his toes. 

Mike could taste a hint of mint on Davy’s lips. Davy could smell the salt of the sea on Mike’s skin, could feel the beat of his heart as he moved his arms up the length of his chest to his neck. Mike placed his hands on either sides of Davy’s face, just as he had the day before. Mike let his half-lidded eyes travel over the curve of Davy’s nose, before closing them as Davy had. There might have been an attempt to hold back, but it was worthless. They had gone too long. Mike let his tongue trace over Davy’s, and moved his hands to the shorter man’s back, to support him and pull him in closer. Davy moaned, and even though he could have stayed in that one position for the rest of his life, he pulled his lips away, so they could focus on Mike’s neck.

“Davy,” Mike held him closer so he could whisper into his ear, “I love you.”

The mistletoe was gone. The pad was gone. The space between them was gone. It was just the two of them, breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes, when Davy wrapped his arms even more tightly around Mike’s waist, and looked him piercingly in the eyes.“I love you, too.”

They would have kissed again, had Micky not screamed “I told you it would work, Peter! Finally, my plan actually worked!”

The real world was back, and even as Mike and Davy remained in a close embrace, their loving faces hardened. “Mick, what do yew, ahem, you mean by ‘plan?’” Mike stated each word slowly. Carefully.

“GMATTCAF. No, wait, it was GTTACSDABC. Uh, Pete?”

“GMADTTCES,” Peter said, happy that he had been proven right and no one noticed he just burned the last of the chicken.

“Yeah, that! Well, uh, I guess that doesn’t answer your question now, does it? See, after I found out that both of you liked each other, but Davy didn't want Mike to know and Mike didn't want Davy to know and it seemed like I should, you know, do something about it, you guys being my friends and all, I thought it might be best for you guys to come out to each other on your own, but I figured you would never do that without a little pushing and shoving, so…”

“So you spent the last week trying to get us together,” Davy said with a twinge of annoyance. 

“Yeah! And it worked!” Micky started a smile, quickly halted by Mike's, now resounding, tone.

“Mick, why wouldn’t you just tell us?” 

“Well, you know Mike, pining and furtive glances, and romance and all that jazz. And, remember, you two kissed. You said those three words. And it might not have happened without me. I think I deserve at least some thanks.”

“Micky, move your stuff out of the bedroom. Tonight." For the first time in days, Micky was taken aback by the strict and stern Mike Nesmith.

“Aw, c’mon man, you can’t be that mad at m—”

“I’m not mad, babe. Well, I am, but right now I just want Davy to move up with me. You're gonna get it after New Years', though.” He blushed as he felt Davy rest his head against his chest.

“Really, Michael? You're willing to move that fast for li'l ole me? How big is your bed, exactly?”

“How indecent!” Micky fainted, for his theatrics had finally moved into affecting his physical body, causing Peter to bring over the finished casserole in an attempt to revive him.

\--

“It’s Christmas Eve, I’ve been usurped from my bed by a British lover boy, and my new roommate made me sick. But, it was all worth it, since Mike and Davy did get together. And I know Mike got me another chemistry set.”

“Micky,” Peter groaned from the next bed, “do you have to narrate what you’re writing in your diary. I’m tired. And you weren’t that sick.”

"At least he's blond. Everything might just come up Micky in the end!" 

\--

Upstairs, Davy quietly stood up and tip-toed over to Mike. He was fast asleep, his hair was a mess, and he was snoring lightly. Davy pulled the covers back slowly, climbing into bed with him. Mike’s arm draped around him, pulling him closer to his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Davy.” 

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, with a quick kiss on the cheek.


End file.
